


virgo immolari

by Anonymous



Category: South Park
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Idiots in Love, M/M, Rituals, Roleplay, Something Made Them Do It, Virginity Kink, Virginity Roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-29
Updated: 2017-01-29
Packaged: 2018-09-20 16:43:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9500558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Butters is chosen to be a virgin sacrifice. Kenny finds a loophole.





	

**Author's Note:**

> the apocalyptic scenario described here is a mash-up of the ones from 'wacky molestation adventure' and 'margaritaville'. this might be a little weird if you aren't familiar with those episodes. 
> 
> ages aren't mentioned, but kenny and butters are intended to be over the age of consent.

   As is tradition, Kenny finds Butters at rest at the carved-stone feet of John Elway, his body draped across the plinth and his robes trailing on the ground. Even in the dim light, they stand out: the vivid red, sacred and grand, with a thread count of over eight hundred. Kenny thinks they originally belonged to the Broflovskis, and unlike almost everything else in this wasteland, they have remained soft and clean, protected from the elements to serve their holy purpose; to be a symbol of sorrow and pride, and a last comfort to those who wear them.

   The moon is high and the sky is black, and Kenny doesn't want to think about who else will be roaming the streets at this hour. He's wearing his darkest headwrap for this, a cloak pulled tight around his shoulders. His bare feet kick up dust as he approaches. Elway's eyes seem to follow him, vigilant, as though he knows that Kenny could steal away his precious virgin sacrifice -- Kenny tries to shake the feeling, but it sends shivers down his spine regardless.

   Butters is supposed to be sleeping, but of course, he is not. From a distance Kenny can see one foot jumping in anxious little spasms, and occasionally Butters' head rolls as he watches the stars. He doesn't notice Kenny until he's within touching distance, and he responds only with a wan smile, closing his eyes when Kenny reaches out to gingerly brush Butters' hair back from his forehead. His skin is like ice, and there's an eerie peace to him. Under the moonlight, he's all shadows, his chest rising and falling with deep, slow breaths. When Kenny crouches to whisper in his ear, he doesn't flinch.

   "Butters," Kenny says, and then licks his lips, which feel suddenly dry. One of his hands is toying with Butter's robe, rubbing circles into the fabric between his thumb and forefinger. He leans in closer, bumping his forehead against Butters' hair, nose touching his cheek. "You know what we have to do."

   "I know," Butters says, softly but without hesitation.

   Kenny pulls back, searching for some sign of emotion in Butters' face. He's looking straight up at the sky, his arms still by his sides. He looks like he needs to be held, but Kenny doesn't dare. "I'm going to save your life," Kenny tells him instead. "It's all going to be okay."

   "I'm glad," Butters says. "Honest." He blinks, and then looks straight up at Elway's face, impassive and immortal above them. "I just didn't want it to be like this."

   "Don't worry," Kenny says, and then stops. He wants to make promises -- to tell Butters that it can still be just like they planned, just as soft and slow, that this will still be a special and beautiful moment that they'll remember forever -- but the lump in his throat prevents him from getting out any of these lies. Instead, he just kisses Butters' cheek, and says again, "Don't worry."

   The iron fence that lines the park creaks in the wind. It feels dangerous just to be here; ancient blood still stains the altar. Kenny's heart is hammering as he gives Butters' temple one last kiss, trying, against all odds, to help him feel safe. 

   "We shouldn't have waited," Butters says, arching his back slightly as Kenny moves to stand by his calves. He doesn't watch when Kenny takes an ankle in each hand and re-positions him, propping his legs up so his knees are turned to the sky and parted enough for Kenny to fit between them, still covered by his robe. "We should've done it on the night of the festival. I really wanted you, Ken. If we'd just gotten a moment alone before I stared pukin' everywhere..." As Kenny crawls onto the plinth, Butters sounds close to tears, reaching for him. "I shouldn't have drank so many goshdarned Margaritas."

   Kenny takes Butters' hands for a moment and squeezes them. They don't have all night-- they can't get caught, but moving Butters to a private place is riskier than taking him right out in the open where the townspeople left him. Kenny wishes that wasn't the case, but it is. They don't have time for hand-holding, or foreplay, or kisses. Butters knows that. Despite the emotion in his voice, he's hard, and the loose robe leaves little to the imagination.

   When Kenny lets go, Butters sighs and, as though in resignation, parts his thighs more, and lifts his hips. It takes some effort to get the robe out of the way, but once he does, Kenny has to take a few of their precious seconds to brace his hands on Butters' knees and take some deep breaths.

   As is tradition, he's completely naked under the robe. Kenny had stored away a cache of razors long ago, and while there has been some debate about whether or not using them is offensive to the Economy, Kenny prefers to get rid of his facial hair, and lets Butters use them too, for whatever he so desires.

   He was not aware that Butters desired this.

   "Look at you," Kenny muses, with inappropriate fondness. He can't help reaching out to touch Butters' skin, naked in all ways, enjoying the feeling of stubble beneath his fingertips before he goes ahead and wraps a hand around Butters' dick, which makes him whine. It's no wonder -- they've been dancing around each other for so long; kissing in shadowy corners, pressing each other up against the sides of ruined houses, whispering dirty promises. "You're ready for this," Kenny says, under his breath.

   "I told you, I wanted to," Butters says. "Just..."

   "Not like this," Kenny finishes for him.

   They share a long look, and then Kenny leans down for a kiss, but Butters turns his head, looking out across the park. "We don't have time," he whispers, sounding apologetic. "We've gotta hurry."

   "Try to relax," Kenny advises him, and he's sad when he has to let Butters' dick go and focus on lifting his own robe and tossing the end of it over one shoulder. For good measure, he lifts Butters' calves over his shoulders as well, slowly, so as not to jostle him and scrape his exposed back on the rough stone plinth. Butters gasps at this, but doesn't protest.

   Kenny spits on his palm, and attempts to slick himself with it. Butters watches, wide-eyed.

   "Is it going to hurt?" he asks in a small voice.

   "Not as much as dying," Kenny says, which is harsh, but true. To make up for this, he strokes Butters' outer thigh in a way he hopes is soothing. "We have to be quick. But I'll be really careful."

   "I know," Butters sniffs, and Kenny leans down to kiss him again as he pushes inside. This time, Butters accepts gratefully, sliding his hands into Kenny's hair, struggling to catch his breath. One of his legs slips down, and he wraps it around Kenny's waist instead.

   Kenny meets little resistance, and he tries to focus on all the tiny sounds Butters is making, alert for any indication of discomfort or pain. He can't stop thinking about what would happen if someone came by and saw them; he feels incredibly exposed, bare-assed and vulnerable. He's moving in such tiny increments, it's possible that from a distance they look like an immobile pile of sheets. Kenny hopes so. They're desecrating the statue, the sacrificial robes, the tradition -- all of it.

   "I love you," Kenny whispers against Butters' lips, when he can go no further.

   "...I love you, too." Butters' cheeks are wet and his voice wavering, and though Kenny knows he shouldn't worry, he still does. He pulls back to wipe some of Butters' tears away with his thumb.

   His virginity is gone. Technically, they could stop now.

   But they never do.

   "How do you feel?" Kenny asks. He keeps his voice low and sweet, just the way Butters likes him to.

   "You're so big," Butters says. A watery smile creeps though, and Kenny buries his face in his shoulder and lets his eyes flutter closed. The park smells rain-damp, that autumn medley of crushed leaves and far-away bonfires; Butters' skin is still cold. "I can't believe I took it all, can you?"

   "Uh-huh. I knew you could, you're so fucking brave," Kenny says. He presses a few reverent kisses to Butters' neck. "You want me to keep going?"

   Butters nods. "So long as you, um, try to be gentle. Please, Kenny." He's lapsed into seriousness again, so Kenny tries to do the same. He noses at Butters' jaw, hoping that this communicates that he will do anything Butters wants. Anything at all. "And... could you maybe tell me you love me again?"

   "I love you," Kenny repeats, and Butters arches against him with a sigh. "Jerk yourself off," he adds, ruining the mood a little, but Butters doesn't seem to care, reaching a hand between them immediately, and groaning when Kenny starts to move.

   Despite the fact that it's freezing cold and the stone plinth is wildly uncomfortable, they don't last long. Kenny comes first, and Butters follows a moment later, covering his mouth with his free hand to keep quiet. Kenny prefers it this way; his euphoria has mostly faded by the time Butters' second bout of crying begins, tears spilling from his eyes the second Kenny feels his come splatter their stomachs.

   "Oh, that was good," Butters sniffles, rubbing at his eyes with one hand. Kenny watches him wipe the other one off on his bare leg, and they share a smile even as tears stream down Butters' cheeks, letting the intensity of the moment ebb away into something comfortable.

   When Kenny took Butters' real virginity, after that Margarita festival, he was so tipsy-clumsy that when Butters began to cry, Kenny assumed it was because of the pain, and cried with him, slurring apologies and patting Butters' face while he attempted to pull out. Then Butters threw up over the side of the bed with Kenny still partially inside him, and the sight made Kenny run for the bathroom, and in the morning he woke up naked in his own bathtub and found Butters passed out on his bed, drooling. They nursed their awful hangovers with the rest of the town and laughed about it. Butters has explained many times since then that his emotions get the better of him because he's overwhelmed with joy and affection, not distress, but Kenny still feels the need to hold him close and whisper reassurances.

   "Baby, you were perfect," Kenny tells him, pulling out gingerly, with no care for the integrity of the crimson robe. The virgin sacrifice policy was short lived, a kind of natural progression from stoning sinners to placate the Economy. Kenny was their first and only, after a lengthy debate about what exactly constituted 'virginity', and when he returned to life, the concept of spilling virgin blood at the feet of Elway was forgotten, and Kenny was still in possession of the robe. It's the nicest thing he owns, even though it has more than a few semen stains. It's worth it every time. "Hey," Kenny says, lowering his voice, though nobody is around to hear them, "I can't believe you shaved for me."

   "I thought you'd like that." Butters laughs through his tears, reaching for Kenny, and pulling him close. He's warm now, at last, and Kenny thinks he will probably let Butters sleep in the robe tonight, if he wants to.

   A branch cracks in the distance and they both sit up, suddenly alert.

   "What the fuck was that?" Kenny says, squinting towards the gate. It's too dark to see anything; streetlights were cut from the city's budget years ago, deemed a useless frivolity. Some nights, it's a relief; others, it's terrifying.

   "Let's get outta here," Butters whispers, quite decisively, and Kenny helps him up and then they're running, hand in hand, giggling with the adrenaline as they bolt towards the treeline. Their feet are calloused from years without shoes and it's nothing; Butters trips over his own ankle and Kenny catches him by the elbows, and when he looks up they're under a canopy of pine. The earth is soft here and they tread slower, until they're almost lost, and Kenny pulls Butters against him, panting and wondering if Butters can hear this thundering heartbeat. An owl calling overhead is the only other sound.

   "Are you okay?" he asks, still breathless. "You're not sore, are you?"

   "I'm just fine," says Butters, beaming up at Kenny, eyes dry but cheeks still damp. "I left my lube back there, though. Hamburgers," he mutters, dragging one foot through the dirt.

   "I wish I hadn't missed that," Kenny says, and grins. The thought of Butters getting himself ready underneath that statue, hand working underneath his robe, always gets his blood pumping at a rapid rate. For whatever reason, being prepared by Kenny isn't part of Butters' fantasy; he likes it to be rushed and harsh, no-frills, but not painful.

   Butters grins back and, as is tradition, they walk back to Kenny's house hand-in-hand, whispering and laughing and looking over their shoulders every other step, planning for the next time.

 


End file.
